


He Never Really Told His Wife

by HeliumStar



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Epilogue John, F/M, Past Relationship(s), Reminiscing, Secrets, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22243192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeliumStar/pseuds/HeliumStar
Summary: John knows that it’s only a matter of time before Abigail or Jack finds it, but he clings almost desperately to the hope that they won’t go snooping in his old belongings.-John finds a box of memories in the attic of Beecher's Hope.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	He Never Really Told His Wife

**Author's Note:**

> A small drabble thing inspired by the line "He never really told his wife" from Twenty One Pilots' song "Johnny Boy".

He stares at the box for some time, entranced by the sight of it and the memories that it brings. It’s old, and once upon a time, it had been green, but the paint had since long worn away. 

John knows that it’s only a matter of time before Abigail or Jack finds it, but he clings almost desperately to the hope that they won’t go snooping in his old belongings. Although that hope grows a little smaller with each passing day.

He stands there in the dim light on the attic - the only source of light is the small window that lets in what’s left of the afternoon sun - and glares down at the lockbox for almost a full minute before he kneels down, pulls it out from where it’s hidden behind an old toolbox and opens it. A faint but sweet smell emanates from the box the moment the lid opens, and John sits there and rummages through the contents, sifting through old posters, carefully handling the dried flowers, and eventually looking through the photographs lying in a neat stack near the bottom of the box.

There’s only a handful of them, and most of the photographs are of John himself, grinning sarcastically or halfheartedly shielding his face from the camera. One of the photographs - that despite the subject doesn’t look nearly as good as the ones of John - is of a woman with long hair, bright eyes, and full lips. Her hands are on her hips, and her head is tilted to the side as she gives the cameraman a skeptical look, a sly smirk with one of her shapely brows arched.

_ “You sure you know how to handle that, cowboy?”  _ John can almost hear her voice in his head. 

_ “Just point and shoot, like a gun,” _ John had replied, which had drawn laughter from the woman, and the picture had come out a mess, but John had kept it nonetheless. The photograph and the memory of her melodic laughter echo in his mind, and the corners of his mouth twitch up, the wonderful laughter and the beautiful smile contagious even years later.

The final photo is of John and the woman together, taken by a third party at some gathering on a ranch John has forgotten the name of. His arm is draped around her shoulders, and the smile she wears in that picture is so much more brilliant than John remembered it to be. It almost hurts to look at, and he quickly replaces the pictures and the items into the lockbox.

That had been several years ago. It had been during a time when he and Abigail had parted yet again because of some disagreement. John had found himself roaming the west in search of answers to questions he hadn’t asked himself yet when he ran into her. 

She had been stranded near Mercer Station, sitting atop a small trunk with her head in her hands as she wept. Curious and compassionate, John had approached her to ask if she needed help. Her situation was more sad and frustrating than John had imagined, having been swindled by a stagecoach that had run off with half of her belongings and all of her money. She begged and pleaded with him to help, offering him whatever she had left if he’d give her a ride to the nearest town.

John had accepted the offer to help but refused any kind of reward. Something about being able to help and to be shown such genuine gratitude made him stay, wanting more.

He’d spent weeks with her - residing in her homestead and living the closest thing to a normal life he could think of - when he’d found that a letter from Abigail awaited him in the nearest post office. For a few days, he considered not going back. There had even been a moment when John considered settling down with this new woman and leave his old life behind, but the thought of leaving his family and friends behind had been too much.

_ “Go!” _ She’d hissed at him through gritted teeth with her bright eyes filled with tears and her soft hands clenched into fists. _ “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lead me on?” _

John had no answers to those questions, and it truly hadn’t been his intention to pretend with the new woman. But after seeing the brokenhearted look on her face when he told her about his family, John couldn’t bring himself to stay a moment longer and returned to Abigail’s side with a heap of apologies and a mysterious lockbox he kept hidden in the attic. It was the only thing besides his memories that detailed his time with the woman from the west.

Abigail doesn’t know about her, and John hopes and prays that it will stay that way. It was just another thing that he thought would be better to remain hidden, and perhaps even forgotten. His wife had been through enough of his mistakes and bad choices as it was. A mysterious woman would more likely than not be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and Abigail is someone that John truly can’t stand to lose.

The sound of doors opening and closing sounds from downstairs, followed by Abigail calling out, “John? Are you in here?”

Quickly, John closes the lockbox and pushes it back into its hiding spot behind the toolbox, tossing an old canvas blanket over the pile to further conceal it. “Just grabbing a few things. I’ll be right down,” he calls over his shoulder. 

“What are you doing up there?” Abigail’s voice sounds closer as if she’s just beneath the ladder. 

“Nothing… just… I’ll be right with you.” John heads downstairs, carefully making his way back down into the kitchen. His wife waits for him in the doorway, and he flashes her a gentle smile. 

“You got lost up there?” She asks him, hands on her hips as she shoots him a teasing smile.

John chuckles softly and nods his head. Although it was a joke, Abigail just doesn’t know just how right she is. “Yeah,” John says, “Something like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a bit uncertain of how to tag this with relationships and all since I don't really consider it being a story/drabble of romance more so than it is John remembering things about his past. The tags might change in the future, and if you can help shed some light on this then I would really appreciate it :)


End file.
